


Just Go With It

by Oohh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Humor, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 03:51:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19433353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oohh/pseuds/Oohh
Summary: He reached up with an arm that still felt heavy with sleep and gently tugged on one of the curls that hung around her face until it straightened, then let it go, watching as it bounced back into its usual coil.“You look pretty today,” he said with a small upwards tilt of the lips.





	Just Go With It

**Author's Note:**

> So, I read a lot of this stuff and thought, why not write my own? Characters are quite OOC as I'm trying to have fun with it for my first go. Hope you enjoy!

If there was one thing that Draco Malfoy hated, it was freckled-faced morons with ginger hair. Especially when said freckled-faced moron with ginger hair was pissing about doing Merlin knows what while he waited for him to make an appearance at their mutually agreed upon time. As if he didn’t have enough work to do, he was now spending precious minutes restraining from literally twiddling his thumbs as he leaned—albeit gracefully—against the door to Weasleys office. All he needed was a signature, a simple signature to sign off for a tiny bit of extra funding. Extra funding that he needed to keep his department above water, but no one cared about the restoration of old magical objects and treasures that had lost their spark, save a few, himself included obviously.

His Mother had told him, well, warned him really, to stay out of the ministry when he was having trouble deciding upon his future career a good decade ago. _Far too much politics, and we have had enough of that to last us a lifetime_! She’d said this while sending scornful glances in the direction of her husband and at the time, the man had good enough sense to look almost ashamed, if not regretful. But Draco didn’t listen, because he had heeded his parent’s advice for twenty-one years and where had that gotten him? Almost dead, utterly loathed by the wizarding community at large and an ugly (though thankfully faded) mark on his forearm that would let everyone that didn’t already know how much of a complete arse he was, that he was in fact a complete arse.

At the time he knew he had to rethink his life choices, and funnily enough, he was having that exact same thought now. He knew why Weasley was late. It’s because he could be, and there was absolutely nothing Draco could do about it. The power balance had changed years ago and Weasley loved to lord it over him any chance he got. Point being, if he had listened to his mother all those years ago, he could have saved himself moments such as these. Though, he didn’t expect any less because if Draco were to be honest, if he himself hadn’t grown out of old prejudices he would have taken every opportunity to do the same to the dim-witted git if their positions were reversed.

You see, even though Draco was still scathing in his opinion when it came to the Weasel, it had nothing to do with old house rivalries, societal imbalances or even the fact that they were on opposite sides of the war. But it did have everything to do with the fact that no matter how much he begrudgingly appreciated Weasleys participation in the downfall of Voldemort, he just couldn’t bring himself to like someone that fundamentally annoyed him on every possible level. What he could do was bring himself to be polite—some of the time—and passively aggressive—most of the time.

Draco sighed. Today was going to have to be a polite day if he wanted that signature. It would be difficult. He wasn’t used to all the witches and wizards that came and went on the upper levels of the ministry. He liked the lower levels where very few ventured and he could hide himself away in his work and tinker with things to his hearts content. He was now thirty-one years of age, the war over a third of his lifetime ago, and they all still gave him a wide berth in the halls, gave him cautious glances before whispering to a co-worker or friend, told their children in hushed tones to stay away. Could he blame them? Not really. Did it grow tiresome? A little, but he would never admit that to anyone but himself. That reception made the wait for Weasley even more tedious then it would have been if people had hated Draco less.

The door he leaned against was almost garish in its opulence for a ministry office. The dark wood varnished to a high shine, trimmed in gold with the words “Mr. Ronald Weasley” boldly engraved in the frosted windowpane. The dark marble tiles beneath his feet were so perfectly spotless that he could see his reflection in them. It was a stark difference to his workspace where the floors were chipped and fractured flagstone, the walls made up of misshapen, yet simple stone blocks and the dull wooden doors groaned and creaked with each small movement. In the winter warming charms were imperative unless you wanted to spend the entirety of the season sniffing and sneezing, and in the summer, it was the perfect refuge from the blistering heat outside. Draco liked it. He was content there.

It was where he wished to be now. He was working on a semi-interesting amulet that he has never come across before. He was still trying to pinpoint the exact date it came into existence, but he could tell by the crude workmanship that it was old. From what he had deducted so far, it had once been used to send a type of warning to the owner. What kind of warning? He wasn’t sure, but it was a piece of wizarding history, a discovery that he had made, even if it was a small one. One day he hoped to stumble across an object of significance, and then maybe he would be remembered for something more than what he currently is. A man could dream, couldn’t he? Well, he could try. The clicking of a woman’s heels atop the marble was distracting. The over-the-top giggling that accompanied the clicking grated on his nerves and made it impossible.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Draco looked down the hall. There approached the King of Weasels himself and whatever witch he had deigned to pronounce Queen for how ever long she may last. She tottered on her heels, clutching to Weasleys robes for support. He supposed they had imbibed some alcoholic beverages over lunch, for she stumbled now and let loose another series of giggles as the man caught her around the waist, helping her along until they reached Draco. She was all smiles until she realised whom they had stopped by, and her face soured. She seemed young, but pretty. Blonde hair straight and sleek settled over her shoulders and fell down her chest. Blue eyes with dark lashes and pink lips, a subtly sloping nose and angular jaw softened just enough to take away any sharpness. All perfectly symmetrical and… boring.

“He’s staring,” whispered the girl to her beau. Why whisper when she was close enough for Draco to clearly hear?  
“Don’t mind Malfoy, love.” Weasley smirked. “He’s harmless. Now off you go. My memos won’t sort and answer themselves.” Draco highly doubted she would be doing shit with Weasleys memos either considering the state she was in. The perfectly pretty—yet boring—witch clutched to her wizards robes just that little bit more before placing an overly long kiss to his check, feet wobbling and unsteady when she finally let the man go and sashayed inelegantly to her own much smaller office just down from the one they stood outside.

“You’re late, Weasley,” Draco stated as he moved aside, allowing the taller wizard access to the door he’d been leaning against. _Be polite_ , he had to remind himself while Weasley, with an exaggerated flourish of his wand, unlocked said door and led the way inside.  
“Can’t say I’m sorry,” Weasley replied cheerfully, even a little smug. “But, as you could see, something important came up.”

The man sat down at his ridiculously large desk, just as highly polished as his door. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if he took pride in having such an oversized desk. He could just imagine it now, Weasley on one of his many dates with one of the many floosy witches that threw themselves at him, gloating over the size of his desk. _Biggest one in the Ministry_ , he’d tout, _you really must come by and see it some time_ , he’d suggest with a wink. In reality, the desk was too large. Not so much in width or length, but in height, and to Draco’s great delight it gave off the imagery of a child playing business in their parent’s office.

Draco supressed the smile that wanted to make the corners of his lips twitch. This man was a fool, that much he was sure of, but he was here to play nice, get the financial backing he needed so he could then go back to being the recluse down in the bowels of this loathsome building. He made the effort to consciously bite back any snide remark he may have wanted to unleash and calmly placed his request atop Weasley desk.

“What’s this then?” Weasley asked, reaching forward to snag the parchment, crumpling a good chunk of it within his grip. Draco chomped down on the inside of his bottom lip. It had taken him weeks to draw up the proposal. A good day to write it out. His penmanship was immaculate! And this oaf here treated as if it were some scrap piece of parchment. He felt indignant. Not a single bloody speck of ink littered the page, there was no bleeding… _Breathe_. He exhaled slowly through his nose.

Weasley whistled lowly. “You can’t be serious, mate. You’re asking a lot, to what? Go excavating through rubble in the hopes that you find something worthwhile?” He let out an incredulous chuckle. “I suppose _she_ is onboard with this?”  
Draco grinned. “Of course.” This was his trump card. “She’s positively exuberant with the potential prospects such an extensive dig could yield. Also means a break for you. No more disapproving glaring whenever you feel the need to dip your toes into the puddle of available witches. At least not for a couple of months.” Okay, so he felt a smidgen of guilt over that last part, but he wanted to sell this! She didn’t need to know.  
Weasley grunted, picked up a quill and dunked it into an inkwell. With a heavy hand he signed his name at the bottom of the parchment, droplets of ink flicking every which way with the force of it. Draco grimaced, not waiting for the ink to dry before plucking up his now approved proposal from the desk. The ink could run, but it no longer mattered. All his hard work destroyed with a singular scrawl and a meaty hand. Life was cruel sometimes.

With a swish of his robes, Draco turned to leave but only managed to take a few steps before Weasley piped up behind him. “Not going to thank me, Malfoy?”  
Of course, he couldn’t just leave it at that. Though, Draco supposed, it would only be polite. With his hand on the doorknob he turned back to Weasley, a small smile playing at his lips. “Thanks, Weasley,” he said with upmost sincerity. He turned the knob, the Weasel smirked, pleased. Pulling the door open he made sure to have one foot already through the threshold before adding, “I’ll be sure to let Granger know that you’re looking forward to her being away.”

Draco slammed the door shut behind him but was able to catch a glimpse of Weasleys face transforming into a blotchy red mess before doing so. _That went well_! Draco was feeling rather chuffed with himself as he hurried through the halls to the lifts, work robes billowing out behind him. It wasn’t a long wait before he arrived at his level. No one ever came this far below therefore his journey wasn’t interrupted with stops here and there to let other witches and wizards off. He wound his way through a maze of corridors, stone walls damp and an occasional droplet of water landing on his head or shoulders. He stopped at the door that lead to his workshop, taking a breath to quell his excitement.

He discovered that it wasn’t necessary as soon as stepped inside and was greeted with the sight of a haggard witch, eyes red and puffy and nose rubbed raw. Draco scowled and took a step back. “Are you sick?” he inquired, sleeved arm already on its way up to cover his mouth and nose. He did not need this right now! If she was just going to infest their work room with her germs and bugs, then she could bloody well go home. Plus, he needed her healthy. He was afraid that Weasley would take away the funding if Granger became seriously ill and could no longer participate on their trip.

She waved a hand at him, dismissing his question. “I’m fine.” Granger looked up as Draco took another step back, his hand a white knuckled grip on the doorknob, the scowl still distorting his pale face. “No need to look so revolted,” she said with a withering stare. “I know how you are about sick people and all that. I wouldn’t have bothered coming in if I was.” Relief flooded through him and he let go of the knob, but still took cautious steps into the room.  
“If you’re not sick,” he started, “then why do you look like that?”  
Granger straightened, her chest puffing out and her shoulders squaring off. “Like what?” Her tone held a hint of shrillness.  
“Well, like shit,” he clarified. And that’s when he could see it, her hackles rising like the fur on a cat’s back. She let out a hiss, and then completely deflated. Her body slumping forward as her hands searched out a small flask from her desk. She popped the cap and took a swig.

“Do you know what day it is today, Malfoy?” she asked. Of course, he did! Today was the day that he acquired the funding for their next big adventure. And she didn’t even seem to care. Did _she_ know what day it is? Clearly, she didn’t, because she hasn’t even asked yet how his meeting with the Weasel went. Sometimes, he wasn’t even sure why he put up with her as a colleague. She was completely and utterly self-involved. He titled his head to the side a bit, nose pointed in the air. Offended, that is what he is. “I don’t deign to provide that question with an answer,” he finally replied waspishly.  
“Of course, of course you don’t. No one,” her voice broke. “No one cares it would seem.”

He watched Granger rise from her worktable, stuffing this and that into her ginormous bag and then suddenly, she paused, levelling him with a look that was almost bordering on pleading. “Draco… how was Ron today?” she asked in a small voice, reminding him of a lost little girl. Hmm, how odd. He couldn’t quite place his finger on what exactly was going on with her, but he was sure that she usually carried a much smaller bag around. With the way she was imploring him with those big brown eyes and the slight tremble of her bottom lip… well, it didn’t take him long to set his indignance aside. If it was that important to her, he would divulge exactly how Weasley was fearing today.

Draco huffed and rolled his eyes slightly, just to show he was still a little put out. “He was his usual git-self,” he declared with a firm nod.  
“Please, can you just… could you just take this seriously?” she pleaded.  
“Oh, bloody hell fine! He was late, per-usual. He was smug and smarmy, per-usual. And he was frolicking around the Ministry with a tipsy, probably far too young for him witch, per-usual.”  
“I see.” Granger hefted her bag up over her shoulder, clutched an old, tattered looking journal to her chest and made a brisk walk to the door. “Sorry, but I can’t do this, not today. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah, Malfoy.” It wasn’t a question, and even if it were, she would have been out the door before he could have answered it. _Odd witch_ is what Draco settled on, but there was nothing for it now. It was a shame, really. It could get lonely down here sometimes when all alone and he had an inkling that her presence was the only thing that stopped him from becoming an all-out hermit.

Maybe he should go after her? You know, just to make sure all was okay. Isn’t that what co-workers do? Butt their noses into each other’s lives when it wasn’t needed or wanted? No, that wasn’t his style. He needed another reason to go after her. He scanned the table she had been working at, searching for something that she may have left behind that he could deliver to her, and then he could use that as an opening to shove his nose where it didn’t belong. Nothing jumped out at him until his questing gaze landed on a slender black box. He moved closer, peering down at it, his nose a breadth away. It looked expensive and like it was coated in a black lacquer.

Draco straightened up and prodded it with a single finger. Seemed safe enough. Gingerly he lifted the lid and was greeted by a thin sheet of gold tissue paper as well as the heady scent of peppermint and—he sniffed—the bitterness of dark chocolate. _Chocolates_! Not many knew this about him, but Draco had a sweet tooth and he just couldn’t help shifting the tissue paper aside to get a good look at them. He plucked up one out of the dozen that resided innocently within the box and gave it a good inspection. He could already feel it start to melt against his fingertips. This was a good sign that Granger was harbouring some quality chocolate. He was sure that she wouldn’t miss one.

Draco popped the delightful treat into his mouth, let it settle on his tongue where it continued to melt, the full depth of flavour had his taste buds singing in pleasure. He slowly bit down and the gooey peppermint centre that he’d hoped was encased within oozed from between the cracks of the chocolate shell that had held it captive. He happily chewed and sucked, but slowly to make it last as long as possible, his eyes closed in bliss as he savoured every bit. When he eventually swallowed, he couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting back down to the chocolates that remained. Well, he was sure that she wouldn’t miss a few more. Draco sat down at Grangers chair and placed another into his mouth, his intention of going to check up on the owner of the chocolates entirely forgotten, lost out to the divine indulgence he just couldn’t seem to get enough of.

His eyes flicked over the table, his mind going into overdrive about what other delicacies the witch could have lying about. It was then that he noticed _The Daily Prophet_ smack bang in the middle with a large picture of Weasley and the blonde witch from earlier decorating the front page. Draco rolled his eyes and stuck out his chocolate coated tongue at the pair. He couldn’t believe people— _especially_ Granger out of all of them—still read this tabloid garbage of a newspaper. With another chocolate safely ensconced in his mouth, he settled in to read, shifting his bottom in the chair until he reached maximum comfort, one of his eyelids fluttering a bit.

_Ronald Weasley: The Most Eligible Bachelor in Britain_ the header claimed. Draco snorted. This should be good. But it wasn’t, not really. _Ever since his split a year ago (to date) from fellow war hero Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley has been the man about town, often hosting rambunctious gatherings at the most prevalent hotspots in Wizarding Britain. We love to see that something as heart-breaking as a divorce isn’t enough to keep a good wizard down and as you can see from the above photo taken last night, he certainly isn’t mourning his failed marriage with Ms Granger. As for her, insiders say that she is still licking the wounds caused by the split_. There was more, the Weasels position at the Ministry, how much he was worth, speculations over which witch would finally nab him now that Granger was no longer in the picture.

Another chocolate and Draco sucked on it thoughtfully as a nerve in his cheek twitched. He felt a bit bad really. Maybe _he_ was the self-involved one? It’s not like they had ever talked directly about Grangers divorce, but he remembers what she was like leading up to it and for a good few months after. She wasn’t _her_ that was for sure and he hadn’t any idea on what to do about it. He wasn’t good with social normalcies any longer, but there was a part of him that wanted to help her, he just didn’t know how to. An additional chocolate slipped between his lips and they pleasantly tingled. Okay, fine, so a large part of him wanted to help her. He _liked_ Granger.

He hadn’t always, and she was still a self-righteous know it all little swot at times, but she had grown on him like some sort of bushy fungus. Draco liked having her around, because she was his “friend”? No, friend didn’t feel quite right. He needed more chocolate to help him figure out how he was feeling. Why was this so confusing suddenly? He rummaged around in the box only to look down in horror. He’d eaten them all. Well, now he felt even worse! Not only was she a sad and lonely divorcee but she no longer had any chocolate to comfort herself with all because of him. He’d have to buy her some more and give them to her, right now.

He wasn’t sure why it felt so imperative to go see her, but it didn’t matter, he didn’t have time to make sense of it all because he was already up and out of her chair, marching to the door. Draco made it all of six steps before he fell to the floor. He groaned and rolled to his back, feeling woozy and warm. More than just warm, he felt almost feverish and could feel the coolness of the flagstone beneath him seeping through his robes as the room begun to spin. _This isn’t good_ , he thought as his eyelids became heavy. _I need to get up_ , but he found that he had no will to do so as his eyes finally closed and the room around him faded away.

When he regained consciousness, Draco wasn’t quite sure why someone was violently shaking him awake. He could hear mutterings of, “shit… fuck… _shit_ ,” before, “Draco, please wake up!” His eyes flickered open, his vision blurry, taking a bit to focus on the face hovering over him. Why was Hermione in his house? In his bedroom, even? Did it even matter when she was looking down at him with such concern deep in her eyes. Why was she worried? He wanted to make her smile, to make her happy. Not just for her, but for him too. He liked her smile, so he reached up with an arm that still felt heavy with sleep and gently tugged on one of the curls that hung around her face until it straightened, then let it go, watching as it bounced back into its usual coil.

“You look pretty today,” he said with a small upwards tilt of the lips. Somewhere in the back of his head there was something telling him that she wouldn’t react well to this, and by the fact that she now looked ill rather than concerned confirmed it, but Draco didn’t care. She does look pretty, and she should be told so, every single day.  
“Shit,” she breathed, just above a whisper. “Shit, shit, shit. Bollocks.”  
“Come on, you have to get up, I need to get you home.” She started to tug at him.  
Home? Was he not home already? Draco looked around at his surroundings as he allowed Hermione to pull him up. How strange, it appeared he was on the floor in their workroom at the Ministry. He opened his mouth to question why exactly it was that he had ended up sleeping here when she cut him off. “Just, don’t ask, okay? I need to figure some things out and then we can talk.”

Yeah, sure, okay. He trusted her. Why wouldn’t he?  
“How do you feel, exactly?” Hermione queried as she got him to his feet. Draco had to think this over. How did he feel? Pretty good, if he were to be honest. He felt like he’d had a fantastic night’s sleep, and for some reason, felt lighter in general, like there wasn’t anything weighing him down. He actually felt pretty amazing. Maybe he should sleep here more often if this was what it was going to do for him. Maybe the flagstone had some form of rejuvenating powers that he never knew about.

“I feel good, really good,” he replied then raised his hand to brush the same curl he’d tugged on before away from her eyes. “How about you?” She jumped back a little at his touch and let out a short, nervous laugh. “Erm, I’m fine. We still need to get you home though. Come on.”  
Draco let her tug him up through the depths of the ministry, onto the lifts and all the way to the floo’s while he caught whiffs here and there of the warm scent of her perfume. She practically shoved him into one of the fireplaces after throwing a handful of floor powder down and as he entered the green flames, he took one last look at her before stating clearly, “Malfoy Manor.”

Home was quiet, but it was still early and now that he was covered in ash and stunk of smoke, he supposed bathing was in order. The quicker he got through his morning routine, the quicker he could be back at work. Was it possible to miss the curly-haired witch already? It wasn’t until a bit later when Draco was eating breakfast with his mother that he realised how far he’d fallen. She kept looking at him over the top of her glasses as she nibbled at her muffin until she finally asked, “are you well, Draco? You look a bit peaky.” He tore his gaze away from his plate where he was stabbing eggs dispassionately with his fork and without a single thought before doing so, replied, “I’m in love with Hermione Granger.”

Draco dropped the fork and clasped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide as the fork clattered, connecting with the plate below.  
She stared at him, seemingly non-plussed. He moved his hands away from his mouth just enough to be able to ask clearly, “Did I just say that?”  
“You did,” she confirmed.  
Hmm, well, he supposed it’s not _that_ bad. He kind of liked the idea of being in love with Hermione. Draco retrieved his fork from the plate, and they both went back to eating, his mother making a low hum in her throat as he begun to eat his eggs with a lot more zeal.


End file.
